


I'm Always Reckless, But That's What Makes It So Fun

by strangelysweet



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akira has a small gay panic, Arsene gives advice and surprisingly no one dies, M/M, Yusuke has low self esteem, Yusuke takes care of Akira's nasty wound, but it gets a little saucy, oh also it's sae's palace bc it's undoubtably the best one, so watch out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22946818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangelysweet/pseuds/strangelysweet
Summary: Akira misses a dodge and gets a nasty cut.Yusuke wants to help stitch him back up again.Arsene has a go at playing matchmaker.
Relationships: Kitagawa Yusuke/Kurusu Akira
Comments: 8
Kudos: 113





	I'm Always Reckless, But That's What Makes It So Fun

Akira was never sloppy.  
He always had another trick up his sleeve, whether it was a quick escape or switching to a persona far greater than the opponent.

And yet, here he was, bleeding heavily from a bite to the stomach. A leopard-like humanoid was standing above him, holding twin sabers.

Using the last of his strength, Akira sent a curse attack his way, diminishing the shadow to a quiet wail in the wind.

The arena inside the casino seemed gargantuan, almost too large for the size of the building itself. He had knowingly walked into the rigged game, even swaggering as he did so.

A bell rang out, sharp and swift.

“Ok, ok. Let’s give our little Phantom Thief a break, shall we? Refreshments can be provided to our patrons with a member’s card.”

A scratchy voice fizzed behind the static of the intercom within the battle arena, causing a flood of footsteps and movement and in less than 30 seconds, the seating area was empty. The lights shut off, one by one, until a single bulb hung above a simplistic door, swaying lightly.

Dragging himself to the door proved a challenge.

He was starting to see stars behind his eyes and the stench of iron made him retch, but he persevered. That’s what he had to do.

Leaning into the door, the room’s air was pleasantly cool and smelled of fresh cotton. Akira staggered into a wooden stool, watching his red gloves stain a shade darker. He cursed, knowing the wound would need stitches.

A shuffle of footsteps came from the doorframe as a shadow begrudgingly entered the room holding a silver tray.

“As much as I want you to bleed out onto the floor, I’ll be fired if you cause a nasty mess in the arena.”

The tray clattered onto the small table in front of him, a first aid kit slid off the tray as it was thrust forcefully by the shadow attendant. Akira held his tongue in-between his teeth, knowing that a sly remark would get him killed and also the wound had cut deeper by his swiveling around to make glowering eye-contact with the shadow.

It stung like a bitch.

As the shadow backed out, Akira swung back around, moving the stool to be adjacent to the table as he searched the first aid kit for a needle and medical thread.

Removing his gloves and peeling off his jacket, Akira used a small heat spell in the palm of his hand, feeling Arsene’s watchful gaze fall on his darkening dress shirt.

“What’d you go and do that for?”

Akira huffed a humorless laugh.

“It was _certainly_ not intentional.”

His persona smiled coldly.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

Holding the needle over the open flame in the palm of his hand, Akira sent a foul look in the direction of the ‘gentleman’ thief.

“Fuck off, you don’t need to know my reasons.”

Arsene laughed, crackling like fire as his eyes bore into Akira’s.

“You’re correct. I don’t need to hear it from you. I know exactly _who_ you did it for. I am thou…”

“-Thou art bullshit.” Akira finished, inspecting the needle as if he had nothing better to do.

He did.

But he wasn’t doing it in the hopes that someone else would do it for him.

Arsene sighed, still grinning like a madman. “You are truly incorrigible. If you want him to do it, just yell his name and he’ll be here at your feet.”

Akira sighed, holding his palm closed over the needle, threading the medical thread through its eye.

He knew that he need only call and what he wanted would come running, but the anxiety of a teenage boy still flooded through the veins of a phantom thief. Arsene watched him with the dull boredom of a cat watching a struggling mouse attempt to lick at its wounds.

“ _Jesus_ , you’re so miserable. I’ll just do it for you then.”

Akira’s slate eyes shot open.

“Wait-“

A click of slender, gloved fingers sent a faint gush of hot air over his tousled hair, and his persona was gone.

Yusuke Kitagawa was not usually nervous.

He was rather proud of himself for being able to detach himself from situations where losing his cool would result in failure.

However, he was pacing the halls of the cognitive hell of a busy casino, biting into his nails into the tips of his fingers, only to retch as the taste of blood made him see Akira in the arena again, being torn into by a shadow. He was a pale person, to begin with, but the bloodless, shuddering expression on his face…

Yusuke couldn’t bear to think of it.

He could have torn through that glass, sliced that shadow into pieces and held Akira-

_Held Akira?_

No.

That was not his place.

He did not deserve to touch Akira, with his pure, hope-drenched soul like honeyed light. He was too corrupted by desire and resignation waiting to spill out like oil on water. He was too impure for Akira.

He swept on his heel as if to stop and turn away from that train of thought, as if it would make him feel better, pulling his gloves back on as to create a barrier for his teeth.

He swung straight into the path of a familiar stranger.

Knife-heeled boots stepped into Yusuke’s trained view of the floor. The beat of raven wings and the feel of blade-like feathers as soft as the kiss of metal and skin swept over him, the air drenched in the smell of gunpowder and rose.

Arsene looked at him inscrutably, eyes billowing like flames under the rim of his hat. Yusuke stared back, blinking as if the eyes of the persona were only a stress-induced hallucination.

Almost tenderly, a gloved hand was extended to him, and without missing a beat, Yusuke placed his hand in the persona’s.

Arsene’s hand felt like touching a stone warmed the sun, and yet it was out of his own by the time Yusuke had inhaled the scent of brimstone. The door in front of him was wooden, with a single lightbulb casting dim, flickering light over the grain of the door. Yusuke placed his hand on the icy door handle, feeling the cold bite through his glove, leaving the lingering tough of warmth to be transferred to the handle.

Opening the door, Yusuke peered through the dim lighting to find a dark-haired young man stitching up a wound in his side, wincing at the hot needle sliding through the skin. His eyes met Yusuke’s surprised but grateful, full of regret and hope simultaneously.

“He really followed through, didn’t he?” Akira muttered, eyes trained on the willowy figure in front of him, gaping at the bleeding wound.

Yusuke immediately closed the door and gracefully slid to the table, concern in his eyes as he removed his mask and placed it gently on the table.

“Akira, may I be of assistance?”

Akira looked up at the artist, then at the mask on the table.

He had the opportunity here, and he could take it.

“I…”

He could _take_ _it_.

“I could…”

He could-

“I think I’ll be alright for now.”

 _Fuck_.

Yusuke blinked slowly and nodded, taking a step back and awkwardly looking around for a second stool. Akira cursed himself and his firstborn as he held the needle hesitantly over the tender skin of the wound. Why was he so useless? What was he afraid of? He was cut off by a sudden breach of silence.

“I was terribly worried.”

Oh.

Yusuke was avoiding eye contact, staring through the wide glass window on the side of the wall, half-obscured by a curtain. he was resting his chin on his hand, the snowiness of his skin a contrast against the cool, bright blue of his gloves. A tiny stain of red had seeped through the fingertip.

His icy grey eyes softened at his gaze, flickering slightly in the dim lighting. He was too goddamn pretty.

“I still am. If there is anything I could do to make your suffering easier, I would do it in a heartbeat, Akira.”

With a face like that, how could Akira say no? He knew what to do.

“You could help with the stitches.”

The words slid off of Akira’s tongue like lines for a play.

That was more like it.

Yusuke was kneeling on the floor by his side in a second, hands hovering over the open wound.

He kept trailing his vision to the peeled up shirt, the glimpse of skin beneath grey slate, face coloring from the heat. The slow rise and fall of Akira’s abdomen was hypnotizing, delicate even. Yusuke glanced up, watching Akira’s eyes from behind his bone-white domino mask. He breathed a sigh as the needle was placed in the palm of his hand. It was difficult to properly hold the needle with his gloved fingers, but he didn’t _dare_ to touch Akira’s bare skin. He was worried he would contaminate him.

“Would you find it easier without the gloves?” Akira’s voice was barely above a whisper, a low hum in the back of his throat.

Yusuke couldn’t find his words, just staring into the gunmetal eyes of his leader.

“I couldn’t.”

He cocked his head like a curious bird.

“Why not?”

Yusuke broke eye contact.

“I am not pure of heart enough-“

Yusuke felt the needle lift from out of his fingers and warm hands tug at the tight fabric of his gloves slowly, gently as if coaxing them off. Taking Yusuke’s hand in his, Akira placed the artist’s hand on his exposed skin, just below the wound. The skin was cold and trembling on his enflamed skin, soothing.

“You can touch me, Yusuke. You are not impure of heart.”

Yusuke’s face was engulfed in heat.

Akira’s skin was smooth and hot, heated by the blood rushing to the wound. He held Yusuke’s hand just below the slash before removing his hand and placing the needle back into his other hand, brushing over the bitten fingertips in comfort. The artist let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding and brought the needle to the wound, looking Akira in the eyes as a warning. he pushed the metal into the skin, pushing back at the flinching muscles and shuddering breath.

“I apologize, I can stop if you-“

“No. Keep going.”

Yusuke nodded, returning his attention to the wound. He pulled the string through and pierced Akira’s side again. Crimson pearls welled around the stitches but did not cause any more bleeding. Checking in Akira’s eyes if the phantom thief was ready to resume, Yusuke pierced the needle through again, trying to ignore the heaving breaths and low groans. As he pulled the thread through, Akira’s back arched and he stifled a low “Fuck.” between his teeth, balling up his fists. Yusuke’s cold hand moved to _grasp his waist_ and keep his back from breaking the thread, causing little electric shocks to travel up his spine. Looking away, Akira tried to wipe the imprint of Yusuke gripping his waist out of his mind.

As the needle entered and left his skin repeatedly, Akira had started to writhe in the stool, held down only by the cold grip that Yusuke help over his abdomen. He swore, bit his lip, dug his nails into his hand and stared at anything but the concerned phantom thief who gazed up at him won't concern and remorse. Sweat started to form beneath his mask around halfway through the procedure. He closed his eyes and threw his head back, running a hand through his hair.

Yusuke noticed the panting and placed the needle on the silver tray, wiping his hands on the cloth provided. He looked through the first aid kit for any kind of painkiller and yet found none.

Akira threw him a haphazard glance, a hand knotted in his hair.

“Little fuckers wanted me to suffer, eh?”

Yusuke hummed inquisitively, trying to hide the redness of his face by looking down at the kit, his brows creasing in confusion.

“Who brought the kit?”

“Some shadow. Told me the only reason was so I didn’t make a mess in the arena.”

Yusuke absentmindedly reached over and removed the mask from his leader’s face, feeling the warm skin grow hotter at his icy touch. Akira’s eyes flashed dangerously.

“Revealing my identity, eh? First calling me by my name, now this?” He jabbed playfully, catching Yusuke’s slender wrist in his hand. He fluttered his eyelashes, staring at the mask in his hand then into Akira’s ash-grey eyes.

“You seemed uncomfortable, I was simply making your situation easier.” He said earnestly, placing it on the table. Akira laugher like a fire whispering to death in its ashes.  
“I was teasing you, Yusuke. I don’t mind.”

Yusuke simply peered owlishly into the eyes of his leader, unsure what his next move should be.

The needle glided through Akira’s skin for the final time, steady under the watchful gaze of his devoted teammate. After knotting the end of the thread, Yusuke leaned over the prone form of his leader as he reached for his dagger, only to grip at fabric. Akira followed his movements silently, letting him brush his hands over hips for the concealed blade, not giving any hints as to where it was hidden.

He challenged Yusuke silently, waiting for the artist to find the knife. Yusuke sighed, giving an amused glower at Akira, patting his hips down in search of the dagger.

His hands were pleasantly cool on his stomach and waist, yet unfruitful in their search. They slowly slid down to his hips, resting on his upper thighs where they finally felt the unyielding metal refuse to grow hotter at their touch.

For good measure, Akira sent a nocuous wink at the phantom thief, laughing at himself and the situation he created for both of them.

Yusuke pulled the string taut and swept the knife through it, leaving a perfect knot next to the wound. He pulled Akira’s shirt back down, face heating at the close proximity and exposed skin. He was not used to this.

He sent a rueful look of remorse as Akira shuddered in pain while using the table to lever himself up.

“Can I do anything else for you?” He said, hopefully. His leader sent a quick glance at him kneeling on the floor and sighed, knowing full well the limits and consequences he had all spread out before him.

“There is nothing else you can do, Fox,” He smiled distantly, eyes darting over to his mask. “I can’t ask any more of you.”

The artist nodded, moving to get up.

Akira felt the hot beat of flaming wings on the back of his neck before he saw the shadow of the horned figure on the table before him.

“Are you really going to throw this opportunity away? Don’t back down now, you made so much progress by just taking initiative.”

Arsene’s voice was barely above a whisper, echoing like a gunshot from an eternity ago in a hallway.

He could not believe that he was _taking romance advice from a fucking persona_.

What a day this was turning out to be.

“Actually, Fox, you could do _one more_ thing for me.”

Akira beckoned him over, eyes smoldering with that mischievous intensity that could only mean he was thinking of something absolutely devious. It made his head swirl and chest collapse, just looking at him, and yet he did not deserve it.  
“What do you require, Joker?”

He was slightly disappointed that they had returned to codenames, as the sound of Akira’s voice saying his name made him feel as if the word was beautiful.  
Those gunmetal eyes flashed and the words fell out of his mouth like rose petals soaked in honey.

“Come here.”

Drawing the artist in, Akira gently held Yusuke’s chin and brought him down into a light, fleeting kiss. 

“Thank you for the stitches.” He murmured into his ear, relaxing his fingers and dropping his hand, only for it to be caught and held in a tender grip. Lips met his own again, and again, and again until the tenderness had sowed unfathomably deep desire that called out at ungodly hours of the night, desire that was stained on the canvases of too many scrapped paintings, desire that drove Yusuke to the absolute _brink_ of madness. The heat was consuming them both, burning brands made of teeth and lips into their collarbones, gripping their hair and searing low growls and gasps at the backs of their throats.

Driven purely by the want of proximity and affirmation of requited feelings, they gripped at each other as if letting go meant the other slipping away, back into the unknown and into the danger of making the wrong move. Breathing was an unwanted necessity, a breach in the tangled embrace of the long-awaited touch that made them feel whole. There was no Fox, no Joker, no Yusuke, and no Akira. Just _them_ , together and drowning in ecstasy while in the company of each other.

Panting and recovering from the stolen air from his lips, Akira caught his breath, his hand hooked around the nape of Yusuke’s neck as their foreheads pressed together. He stared at the color of Yusuke’s eyes, wondering how an entire river of ice and quicksilver was trapped behind his fluttering eyelashes, and he kissed him again, deeply and sweetly. His companion smiled softly into the corners of his mouth, inhaling his scent like he couldn’t breathe anything but it. Akira planted a kiss on his jaw and, reached blindly for their masks, hearing the dim fuzz of static on an intercom somewhere loud and far too busy to be interested in.

“I have to go back in the ring.”

Yusuke huffed indignantly.

“It is an unfair fight, let me come with you.”

Akira shook his head, sliding his domino mask onto his face. “I have to do it alone. But we both know I’ll win. I’m not losing to some petty shadows.” He laughed softly, taking the kitsune mask and placing it gently on his companion’s face. Yusuke hesitated, but nodded in defeat, placing his hands over Akira’s.

“ _Be careful_. Do not do anything reckless.”

Akira laughed, clear as a bell, murmuring closely into Yusuke’s ear a sentence that set off the thrill in his blood, running in electric rivulets down his spine:

“I’m always reckless, but that’s what makes it so fun.”

**Author's Note:**

> we better get to date yusuke in P5: the royal or i'm going to eat my own kneecaps.


End file.
